The First Thanksgiving

Recently, I read an article in The New Yorker that said you never forget the first Thanksgiving dinner you cook, and I'd have to agree. My first attempt was in 1997 in Evanston, Illinois. Gus and I lived together in a humble apartment (some things don't change!) -- a roomy one bedroom on the first floor of a red brick building. It was just around the corner from a coffee roasting store and to this day I can't smell that distinctive burnt aroma without thinking about that time in my life.

Today, I can't recite our menu dish by dish, but I am sure it included a dry turkey breast, Stovetop stuffing, crescent rolls and, the crown jewel, green bean casserole with extra fried onions. The meal likely wouldn't pass our more discerning palates today, but back then it was good, warm and there was plenty of it. Best of all, it was ours. Not only was this the first Thanksgiving dinner I had cooked, but it was also the first of the holiday that we spent together as a couple, instead of parting ways to return to our respective families.

As we sat at our square, unfinished IKEA kitchen table (again, some things stubbornly won't change) admiring our view of the alley behind the building, a down-and-out man came into view and began digging in the dumpster parked a few feet away. My heart ached for him, alone, humble and homeless on a day filled with warmth and abundance for so many.

After a quick discussion, Gus went out to ask him if he was hungry. He was, so I filled a plate of our amateur feast, topped it with two buttered rolls, poured a glass of sparkling cider and brought it to him with a fork and napkin. He didn't say much, and we went back inside. He sat on the stoop of our apartment and ate his fill, then left the empty plate and cup by the door and silently continued on his way.

I never saw that poor man again in our alley and don't know where life led him after that day. I'd like to think he spent his next Thanksgiving inside, cozy and full but I know that isn't likely. For me, he will always be a part of Thanksgiving as not a one goes by that I don't think of him and how our paths crossed so many years ago.